


The Beauty of the Rain

by yankee_jim



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, Bullying, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Murphamy - Freeform, Ocean, Past, Past Character Death, Post-Graduation, Rain, Spin the Bottle, cliff diving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankee_jim/pseuds/yankee_jim
Summary: “Find beauty in the rain,” his mother would call from the kitchen, her voice soft and sweet like honey, just loud enough so Murphy could hear it over the constantly running tap of the kitchen sink. Then, she would light the fireplace, curl up next to Murphy on the couch by the window, and read aloud to him until he fell asleep.Murphy had yet to find beauty in the rain. Now, all it made him think about was the version of his mother he had lost. For a brief moment Murphy rested his head against the steering wheel, his long, unkempt brown hair hanging over his eyes. That was until his peacefulness was interrupted by frantic tapping on his car door. Murphy snapped his head up in annoyance and through his rain-covered window, was met with the sight of a familiar dark-haired man knocking wildly on the glass, a look of desperation in his eyes.“Bellamy?” Murphy said as he rolled down his window, his tone heavy with indignation, “what the hell do you want?” Murphy’s chest began to fill with a sense of irritation and dread not only at the fact his secret spot had been found out, but also the fact his arch nemesis was the one that had found it.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	The Beauty of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've read so many Murphamy stories, but this is the first I've written.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Murphy knew he should not have trusted the weatherman. The sky was not clear as promised, not painted with brilliant shades of yellow and pink like Murphy had hoped. Instead rain fell heavy from the dark grey sky, pounding on the windshield of the car like horse’s hooves on a racetrack.

Murphy sighed as he pulled his car up to the edge of a precipice that looked over a vast sheet of rolling sea. He had nicknamed this spot “Murphy’s Special Spot,” because despite its striking beauty, nobody seemed to go there but him. 

Murphy had been coming to his special spot since he was a kid. Whenever his mother was having a particularly hard day and it seemed the only thing she had the capacity to do was hurt her son and drink, Murphy would pedal his bright red bicycle as far away from his house as he possibly could. But Murphy didn’t ride just any bicycle. He rode the Condor Junior Roadracer his dad had hand-built for him in their garage only months before he passed away. 

It was with his dad that Murphy had first come to his special spot. Despite it being so many years ago, Murphy remembered the evening perfectly. He remembered the way the ice cold root beer his dad had bought him contrasted against the heat of his sweaty palm, the way he sat pressed against his father’s side, both of them dangling their feet off the edge of the monstrous cliff. As Murphy got older, however, the cliff seemed to slowly decrease in size until it was at a height Murphy felt he could confidently dive off. His father had always effortlessly dove off the cliff, whooping and cheering as he plummeted into the deep ocean below, but Murphy had always been too frightened.

“Come on John, give it a try!” his father would call, his head bobbing above the surface of the water. Murphy would always reply with a giggle and a simple shake of his head.

It had been exactly eight years since his father had died, and Murphy had planned to do it tonight, to drive to his special spot, to finally take the leap and, against the backdrop of a cloudless sunset, show his father how brave he had become. Yet, as he sat in the driver’s seat of his rickety old pick-up truck and looked out on the foggy horizon, unable to tell where the grey sea ended and the grey sky began, Murphy felt anything but brave. 

When he was young his mother, back when she would only have a glass of red wine with dinner, had always told him the rain was beautiful. Murphy would huff and stomp, frustrated over the fact the wind howling through the trees and the droplets of water falling from the sky prevented him from playing at the park.

“Find beauty in the rain,” his mother would call from the kitchen, her voice soft and sweet like honey, just loud enough so Murphy could hear it over the constantly running tap of the kitchen sink. Then, she would light the fireplace, curl up next to Murphy on the couch by the window, and read aloud to him until he fell asleep.

Murphy had yet to find beauty in the rain. Now, all it made him think about was the version of his mother he had lost. For a brief moment Murphy rested his head against the steering wheel, his long, unkempt brown hair hanging over his eyes. That was until his peacefulness was interrupted by frantic tapping on his car door. Murphy snapped his head up in annoyance and through his rain-covered window, was met with the sight of a familiar dark-haired man knocking wildly on the glass, a look of desperation in his eyes.

“Bellamy?” Murphy said as he rolled down his window, his tone heavy with indignation, “what the hell do you want?” Murphy’s chest began to fill with a sense of irritation and dread not only at the fact his secret spot had been found out, but also the fact his arch nemesis was the one that had found it.

\--

Murphy and Bellamy had started as great friends in elementary school, playing tag on the playground and building elaborate forts out of branches and leaves they had found on the forest floor. But as the years wore on, and the boys grew up, Bellamy had slowly started to drift away. In high school he had integrated himself into the group of teenagers that sat at the top of the social food chain, the kind of teenagers that would call Murphy a ‘fairy’ and “accidentally” push him down in the hallway.

On a particularly good morning, a morning in which his mother had chosen a cup of coffee over a cup of vodka, Murphy had tried to smile at Bellamy. For a quick moment, he thought he had seen Bellamy’s eyes soften and the corners of his mouth upturn, but the moment was over as soon as it had begun when Murphy was pushed forcefully against a locker by the leader of Bellamy’s new friend group.

“Does somebody have a little crush?” The boy, who was much larger than Murphy, spat, his face inches from Murphy’s and his hand gripped tightly around his shirt. The boy’s breath smelled of onion and cigarettes and Murphy tried not to visibly wince at the putrid stench.

“Fuck off,” Murphy muttered under his breath, which he had quickly regretted doing when he was met with a painful punch to the side of his head that had left him with a concussion, a bloody lip, and a tiny scar that sat perfectly on his cheekbone. Murphy didn’t try to smile at Bellamy again.

\---

“I’m lost,” Bellamy said through rapidly chattering teeth, large droplets of rain water dripping off the tips of his black curls. Murphy raised an eyebrow at him, selfishly relishing the sight of his discomfort. 

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Murphy remarked snidely, placing his hand on the window crank, threatening to roll it up and leave Bellamy out in the rain.

“Believe me when I say you’re the last person I ever want to say this to, but I want you to let me in your car.” Bellamy hung his head low as if, despite the fact they were in the middle of nowhere and there was not another person in sight, he was ashamed to be speaking to Murphy. Murphy couldn’t have expected anything else.

“What are you even doing out here?” Murphy asked.

“I could ask the same to you,” Bellamy replied, his shoulders beginning to shake and his lips turning a light shade of purple in defiance of the warm breeze and the summer rain.

\--

The last time Murphy had spoken to Bellamy was a month ago at a party Murphy had only been invited to because he was a part of the graduating class. As the night progressed, the nerds and the theatre kids, the goths and the loners started making their way home until only Murphy and the very same group of teenagers who for the last five years had done nothing but punch him and call him names were left. Murphy sat warily on the stairs by the door, nervously tying and untying the thick laces of the worn down hiking boots he had bought himself for ten dollars at the town’s flea market. He was surprised when Bellamy stumbled over to him and asked him if he wanted a drink.

“No thanks,” Murphy replied flatly as he absent-mindedly swished around the ginger-ale that had pooled at the bottom of his glass. He was positive about the fact that if Bellamy hadn’t drank 12 beers that night, he would not have been giving Murphy a second glance. Bellamy shrugged.

“Play spin the bottle with us then,” he slurred nonchalantly, as if inviting Murphy to kiss the group of people who had beat him up behind the school mere weeks ago was the most ordinary thing in the world. 

Then, before he could protest, a firm hand was placed on his shoulder, guiding him into the crowd. Murphy habitually toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater, his nerves stunning him nearly frozen as he shuffled through the mob of swaying teenagers.

“Murphy’s going to join us,” Bellamy stuttered drunkenly through a lopsided smile, his grip tightening on Murphy’s shoulder. In reply, he received a series of snickers and groans from the group of kids that had formed a large circle around a labelless, green, beer bottle. 

“Fine,” said a boy with ratty blond hair, raising his hands in mock surrender, “as long as I don’t have to kiss him.” Murphy recognized him as the one with the onion breath that had given him the scar on his cheek.

Murphy averted his gaze to the floor, contemplating shaking loose of Bellamy’s grip and running for the door. That was until Bellamy gently pushed Murphy toward the ground, sitting down close enough to him that their knees were touching.

“Why don’t we make the twink go first?” One of the girls piped up, a bolus of pink chewing gum rolling around in her mouth. Just as Murphy winced at the nickname, he felt Bellamy’s knee press harder against his own. Murphy reached cautiously for the bottle, leaving steamy fingerprints on the glass. Then, after a deep breath, he spun it. Everyone in the circle seemed to go silent, their eyes glued to the twirling green blur in the centre of the room. Murphy’s breath hitched when the spinning finally slowed and the neck of the bottle pointed directly at the last person he wanted it to point to: Bellamy. Before Murphy had a chance to disagree, to stand up and walk away, to tell Bellamy he would rather kiss anyone than him, a hand was placed gently on his wrist, warm, alcohol-soaked breath ghosting over his cheek. Then, a pair of chapped lips pressed softly against his own. Murphy fumbled with his hands, unsure of where to put them before ultimately settling on picking aimlessly at his hoodie, rubbing the thin layer of fabric between his thumb and forefinger. For a brief moment in time, Murphy felt himself leaning into Bellamy’s kiss, but was quickly brought back to reality by the kids in the circle, their hoots and hollers not joyous but rather laced with sarcasm and malice.

“You enjoyed that way too much, Murphy,” one of them spoke up, though Murphy’s head was spinning too fast to tell which one of them it was. He glanced over to Bellamy who was vigorously wiping his mouth with his sleeve, as if just seconds ago he hadn’t been smiling against Murphy’s lips.

“I knew he was a homo,” said one of the boys in the circle, an oversize shirt hanging over his shoulders and his hair styled back with a little too much gel, “and that was disgusting.”

Murphy’s cheeks reddened, his gaze resting heavily on Bellamy, half expecting him to get up, to take Murphy’s hand and to defend him. But Bellamy’s eyes stayed purposefully glued to the floor, his jubilant black curls hanging loosely over his face.

“You’re all a bunch of pricks,” Murphy spat as he stood up and, knowing the group of teenagers were too drunk to follow him, pushed himself toward the front door with the intention of never seeing any of them again.

\--

“Ugh, fine,” Murphy said reluctantly, deciding it would not be good for either of them to leave Bellamy out in the cold. As Murphy reached over to unlock the passenger door, Bellamy’s face lit up with a familiar smile. It was the same smile he used to give Murphy when, after spending hours flipping over rocks on the beach, they would finally catch a crab just small enough it could fit in Murphy’s mother’s purse, but just large enough it would scare the living daylights out of her when she found it.

Bellamy ducked his head as he scrambled into the truck, his rain drenched clothes immediately leaving wet pools on the seat. Murphy reached into the back and rifled through old coffee cups and piles of crumpled paper until he found a raggedy towel, handing it to Bellamy with care not to let their fingers touch.

“Thanks,” Bellamy said as he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. Murphy didn’t reply, his eyes fixated on the droplets of rain that scurried down the windshield.

“So what  _ are  _ you doing here?” Bellamy asked, running the old towel through his hair.

“Nothing,” Murphy replied with a shrug, “what are  _ you _ doing here?”

“I just went on a walk to clear my head,” Bellamy began, “then I lost the trail, it started raining, and somehow I ended up on the edge of a cliff.” Murphy couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was Bellamy needed to clear his head of.

“The weather said the sky would be clear tonight,” Bellamy said, “I was hoping I’d see a nice sunset.”

“You and me both,” Murphy chuckled as he turned to look at Bellamy, only to find a pair of dark brown eyes already intently staring back at him. Truthfully, Bellamy’s eyes were a million different hues, making Murphy wonder what the word “brown” really meant. He cleared his throat nervously and inelegantly, quickly averting his gaze to his hands that sat clasped together in his lap.

“I’m guessing you want me to drive you home,” Murphy muttered unenthusiastically, bitter about the way in which the anniversary of his father’s death, as if the day was not already hard enough, was getting worse and worse.

“No,” Bellamy replied softly, much to Murphy’s surprise, “I kind of like sitting in the rain.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I don’t.”

“Find beauty in the rain, Murphy” Bellamy exclaimed, playfully punching him in the shoulder, a large grin creeping across his face. But Murphy’s stomach just sank and his heart ached at the statement.

Bellamy’s smile quickly faltered. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“What?” Murphy asked.

“‘Find beauty in the rain.’ It was something your mom always said to us when it was too wet to go outside.” 

“Oh,” Murphy hesitated, “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

Bellamy leaned his head against the back of the seat, joining Murphy in watching the darkening sky out the front window. Dozens of gulls tumbled in the wind like paper airplanes, the bright white of their feathers glinting boldly against the dark grey clouds.

“My dad died eight years ago today,” Murphy suddenly blurted out. He didn’t know what prompted him to say it, to give Bellamy a small glimpse into his overburdened mind. Bellamy looked over at Murphy, his mouth slightly agape, the expression in his eyes making it clear he was unsure of what to say.

“Oh,” he finally settled on.

“He always used to bring me here when I was younger,” Murphy continued, ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere that now hung heavily in the air, “I was always too scared to dive off the cliff, but he never was.”

“Is that why you’re here now?” Bellamy asked, “to dive off?”

“I want to show him I’m brave,” Murphy mumbled, regretting starting the conversation in the first place when he realized how small he sounded. A long, drawn out silence fell over the two boys, accompanied only by the pitter patter of rain on the glass.

“Then let’s show him,” Bellamy broke the silence, his signature smile once again spreading across his face and immediately filling Murphy’s chest with warmth.

“Huh?” Murphy stammered, a confused smirk teasing at the corners of his lips.

“You heard me,” Bellamy exclaimed, “Let’s show him how brave you are.”

Murphy didn’t have a chance to argue, to roll his eyes and tell Bellamy how senseless he was being, because before he knew it he was standing at the edge of the cliff with Bellamy by his side, both of them dressed in nothing but their underwear. Warm rain pounded on Murphy’s exposed back as he looked down trepidatiously at the dark, swelling sea.

“I’m so scared!” Murphy shouted over the whistling wind and crashing waves, blinking ferociously in an effort to keep out the raindrops threatening to fly into his eyes.

“Don’t be!” Bellamy yelled, his hair dancing in the wind like thousands of swinging trees. He tilted his head back in laughter and, as he rested his gaze on the luminous whitecaps that speckled the sea, intertwined his soft, wet fingers with Murphy’s.

“Ready?” Bellamy said quieter as he gave Murphy’s hand a light squeeze.

“Ready,” Murphy replied, despite the fact he felt anything but. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he was unsure if it was because he was about to jump off a cliff, or because Bellamy’s fingers were wound tightly around his own and he was standing close enough to the other boy that he could see the dozens of small raindrops that accumulated on his dark eyelashes.

Then, with a widespread grin on his face, Murphy was free falling. He felt frozen in time as the rain cascaded in perfect unison with his body, Bellamy never once letting go of his hand as they plunged deep into the frigid water. For a couple of seconds, Murphy’s world was almost silent, filled only by the muffled sound of waves churning above him. He liked the feeling of being weightless, of being released from the ordinary rules of gravity, and he wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner. When he resurfaced, he found himself chest to chest with Bellamy, who let out a gentle huff of a laugh, making Murphy realize just how close they really were when he felt warm breath dancing over his lips. For a moment, Murphy ignored the way in which the water nipped mercilessly at his toes and he instead studied each freckle that littered Bellamy’s cheeks. As his breath began to slow, Bellamy rapidly flickered his gaze across Murphy’s face before lightly brushing back a stray strand of his cinnamon hair. When they were young, Bellamy’s hands had always been calloused and rough, but now, as Murphy drifted with the tide, his fingers fumbling against Bellamy’s, he couldn’t have imagined a gentler touch. Just as he was about to lean in, to let himself be sucked into the seemingly gravitational pull of Bellamy’s lips, Murphy was plagued with a sudden feeling of apprehension, which quickly shape-shifted into a feeling of dread, then anger, then sadness. Murphy squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the times when Bellamy simply stood and watched as he was beaten to the ground by an endless chain of punches and kicks, the countless times Bellamy had left him so defenseless he might as well have abandoned him in the woods for the wolves to pick at. He remembered the time Bellamy had kissed him, the way their lips undeniably slotted together in a way that was as if they had never been apart, and he remembered the way Bellamy had hid his face in shame when Murphy finally pulled away.

“I can’t,” Murphy whispered, almost certain his small voice could not be heard over the wind’s mournful wails.

“I can’t,” he said again, his voice louder and laced with a hint of anger, as if trying to convince himself to let go of Bellamy’s hand.

“Why?” Bellamy asked, his voice innocent as if it belonged to a child. His tone was soft and void of judgement as he asked the question, but Murphy could tell that deep down, Bellamy already knew the answer. 

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

When Murphy’s eyelids fluttered open he realized Bellamy’s forehead was pressed against his own. His mouth spoke no words, but his dark eyes, as they stared longingly into Murphy’s, screamed a million different things at once. When they were kids their eyes were all they had ever needed to communicate, sharing knowing glances across the dinner table until, much to their parents’ confusion, the two of them were rolling on the floor in fits of laughter. Murphy thought if both him and Bellamy were mute, their conversations would have been just the same.

“I think we should go,” Murphy whispered as the cold water pricked at his fingers and toes. Not moments later, he found himself sitting next to Bellamy in the driver’s seat of his truck, a damp towel wrapped around his shoulders. Warm air blasted from the heater, fogging the windows and making for Murphy a perfect canvas in which to etch indecipherable designs with his finger.

Bellamy’s voice was soft and uncertain when he broke the silence. “Murphy?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m gay.”

“Oh.”

“I’m gay, and I like you, and I’m sorry.”

Murphy didn’t answer, just turned to look at Bellamy whose mouth hung slightly open as if whatever he wanted to say next was failing to make it past his lips.

“I’m sorry I let them hurt you,” he finally uttered out, “I’m sorry  _ I  _ hurt you.”

Murphy wanted to speak boldly, to stand his ground, but when he tried his voice came out in nothing but a soft whisper. “Okay.”

“It’s just that every time I looked at you my heart would skip a beat,” Bellamy said, “every time I  _ look _ at my heart skips a beat.”

A small smile crept onto Murphy’s lips. “That’s so cliché.”

“I know,” Bellamy placed his hand firmly on top of Murphy’s, letting out a soft chuckle “but listen to me.”

He rested his free hand over his eyes. “When I saw you, when you would smile at me, my head would spin and my mouth would go dry and that scared me.”

Even in the dim, clouded light Murphy noticed a red blush climbing up Bellamy’s neck.

“I let them punch you and call you names because I was scared if I defended you they’d know who I really was.”

Despite the fact Murphy let out a sardonic laugh, his eyes were filled with understanding.

“But Murphy?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted so badly to defend you. I wanted to march over to you and take your hand,” For a moment, Bellamy’s breathing stopped, his grip on Murphy’s hand growing tighter, “I wanted to kiss you.”

Murphy’s heart beat fast to the rhythm of the rain drops that fell inconsistently on the sunroof, his stomach churning like the stormy sea that swelled just outside the window. “Then kiss me,” he said.

So Bellamy did.

Though the kiss was laced with fervor and desperation, Murphy had never felt such a gentle pair of lips against his own. 

Bellamy’s fingers brushed carefully over the scar on Murphy’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he continued rubbing gentle circles on Murphy’s face. Bellamy’s lips were cracked and dry like they had been when they first kissed, yet nothing more about this kiss resembled the last one.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Murphy whispered back against Bellamy’s lips, and as the two boys moved delicately against each other, not a drop of shame hung in the air.

Murphy still wasn’t sure if this moment was only in his head, but he couldn’t deny the raw emotion in the way Bellamy’s fingers curled around his. As their lips moved together in tandem, Murphy kept his eyes closed, but every time he came back for air, he snuck a guilty peek at Bellamy just to make sure this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

When they finally broke apart, Murphy’s breathing was heavy and sporadic. “Bellamy?”

On Bellamy’s face lay a large, goofy grin that filled his cheeks with warmth and his eyes with light. “Yeah?

“I think I found beauty in the rain.”

  
  



End file.
